Insanity
by DizzyDawn007
Summary: Some people, they have happy endings. They don't fight with the one they love. Hermione and Draco are not those people, and they don't have a happy ending. Not really that sad. Hermione's POV


**So, this is just a little something that I literally just wrote up. I was thinking about it, and read a couple of stories, and then just started writing. I like the way it turned out. It's kinda reminiscent of stream-of-conciousness, so bear with it. Hopefully it's not riddled with mistakes and such...this is my first D/Hr fic in a long while. So tell me what you think, good or bad, let me know. Thanks Bunches!**

_Dizzy_

* * *

Sometimes, I wondered if I was insane. Or a masochist. Maybe I was subconciously into the whole "pain and pleasure" thing that no one liked to talked about. A sadist? I don't know.

It's strange, you know, wondering about something like that. You think about the things that excite you and just know you're kinda weird. For instance, most people don't get extremely excited about getting a new book. I do. It's a pretty common fact. So really, maybe it isn't all that strange that I wonder weird things about myself – after all, I'm just weird, so why fight it?

I was taken the moment I saw him. Eleven years old, and already, I knew I had found the love of my life. It wasn't just a crush. It's never been a crush. I used to call it that, to myself – because of course I didn't tell people. God, just imagine if I had! Horrible! But then, around fourteen, I started wondering. I'm always wondering, and a lot of it is focused on him...just can't seem to help myself.

See, I'd decided that I didn't want to like him anymore. I never wanted to like him again. He picked on me constantly, called me names, hated my best friends (hated me), and there was no chance that we would ever be together. I knew this. So if we were never going to be together, what was the point in liking him? But I just couldn't help myself. I'd see him, and I'd get all fluttery, and then he'd call me a name and I'd call him a name back. At fourteen, you're still kinda immature, you know? You don't really grasp the realities of the world around you – of course, yes, there was Voldemort, and Harry practically dying once a year, but I was fourteen, and I still saw the world through rose color glasses. So of course, when I'd think about it later, I'd think about it as "our thing". Not everyone called each other names, so, you know, we were special like that. He didn't pick on any other girl nearly so much as he picked on me. And really, he was the only one I could honestly say I was mean too. So, yes, it was "our thing".

But I'd gotten tired of "our thing". I didn't want it. I still don't. Wanting to change your emotions and feelings doesn't make them change, believe me, I know. I tried for years. That's another thing! Why in the world would I like someone when I didn't want to? It's insane. That's where this whole wondering started, you know, the wondering if I was a masochist, or a sadist, or whatever. Because I'm pretty sure that normal people don't like people they don't want to. I'm pretty sure normal girls blush around the boys they like, not try to think up clever insults. Of course, I can't very well check on that without giving something away, but still...I'm certain I'm right.

It's not like he's even a great person to like. He's very mean and he's always insulting people (the fact that it's always witty has nothing to do with it) and he's always tattling on Harry for stupid things (the fact that he always manages to catch Harry has nothing to do with it) and really, he's just seeped in Dark Magic (the fact that I find Dark Magic extremely dangerous and fascinating has nothing to do with it). So see? Why do I like this guy? I mean, sure, he's got gorgeous blonde hair that makes you think of an angel, and sure, he's got these beautiful grey eyes that sometimes take on a blue hue, and sure, his skin is flawless – but really, there's not a lot to like about him. His face is extemely angular (too angular, honestly) and he's totally lanky. I mean, what's to be attracted to? Who wants a lanky guy? The fact that I'm taller than a lot of guys my age (not him) and prefer my guys kinda skinny has nothing to do with it.

So yes, I tried to stop liking him. Key word here, is tried. I wasn't that successful. Sorry, I meant to say it was a complete and utter failure. It really was. It made me quite depressed at the time, but by then, Krum had asked me to the Yule Ball, and I said yes in an attempt to get over him. So I was stuck with him. And sure, I had fun dancing, and yes, I had tremendous fun surprising Harry and Ron, and I'm not to say I didn't enjoy the look on his face when I walked past him. But that didn't change that fact, that deep inside (where my crazy thoughts go) I had wanted him to ask me, even though I knew we wouldn't have been able to go together. See what I'm talking about when I say complete and utter failure?

And yes, I failed to stop liking him. That was when I began to wonder if maybe it wasn't something more than a crush. Crushes are supposed to be fun and carefree, and this was anything but. I would have given anything to just stop myself from having those feelings. When summer came, I was happy to be away from him, and yet dreaded when we got on that train, because I knew I wouldn't see him at all over the summer. There was always the hope that I'd maybe stop liking him...that it would just fade away. Of course, it never happened. So by the time I was fifteen, I was convinced that I loved him. I mean, what else could it have been? I wanted to be with him all the time. No matter what he said or did, I found a way to excuse it, though I couldn't help but correct him sometimes, which inevitably led to verbal fights. And it's not like those helped, because once we started having them when Harry and Ron and Crabbe and Goyle weren't around, the fights got more heated, and we always forgot about our wands, and we absolutely tore into each other.

This is where the sadist thing comes in – cause God! Did I ever love to see him thorougly beaten! How I love the rush that came when he realized that he'd lost. Oh, sure, sometimes I lost, but really, I think we were always pretty even. But oh! To see him afterward, to literally see the realization sink in, to see the triumph fade from his eyes! Those fights are some of my fondest memories. But you can see why I wonder about myself. What normal girl gleefully verbally abuses the boy she thinks she's in love with? None that I know.

So the summer after fifth year, I had convinced myself that I didn't like, didn't love him anymore. After all, what was the point, at all, in liking someone if you knew nothing was ever going to happen? Because by then, I had decided. It didn't matter if he liked me back or not, it didn't matter if we could ever be together, because I knew I wouldn't date him, even if I could. At that time, I didn't want a boyfriend, not even him. So the summer that I thought I didn't like him anymore was great. Absolutely great. I had a wonderful time, didn't think about him once, really. My heart let my head take a break from fighting iself all the time and just let me be. I should have known it wouldn't last. Logic never wins when it comes to the heart. Even I know that. Because really, it just wasn't logical for me to like him. It's really what drives me insane. But I didn't know what I should have, because the first time I saw him in our sixth year, I was hit hard. Very hard. The flutters came back, worse than ever. My nervousness around him was tenfold, and I could hardly hold a conversation with anyone for thinking of insults I could throw at him if need be.

So it was that night, as I lay in bed, that I realized these feelings would never leave me. I would never escape them. But I tried. Good Lord, did I try. Now the whole incident with Ron is even too horrible to think about, let alone tell you about. I mean, what was I thinking? I really tried to like Ron, and I put up a pretty good act of liking him for everyone else, making a fool out of myself. However, I was comforted one night when we got into yet another fight and he ended up bashing Ron pretty good. When I didn't nearly so much as blink an eye in defense of him, he started to laugh, and told me that he had _known_ I didn't really like Ron. Of course, he was smirking and triumpant, and he also threw in that I was psychotic, but really, the point was made that he knew what no one else knew. And of course, he threatened to blackmail, but I didn't really care. I was just happy that he could see what apparently no one else could.

Because really, how was everyone so easily able to believe that would make a fool of myself like that for _Ron_? Nothing against Ron, of course, but it's not like he's the greatest catch in the world. And besides, we're best friends. Speaking of best friends, that really made me question whether we were all as close as I had thought. I mean, if even Harry didn't know me well enough to know that I would never make a fool of myself for a boy...well, lets just say, it got me wondering. Ron, was well... Ron. He is lazy, isn't terribly smart, and he is so close-minded about some things it isn't even funny. I mean, when I picture my future husband, I expect him to be at least a little bit like me – dedicated, if not hard-working, smart enough to carry a conversation on about things that are interesting, and smart enough to know that you should never decide opinion until you've heard all sides of the story. And really...well, Ron is just too emotionally shallow. And I know that sounds horrible, but really, I'm not trying to be mean. His biggest ambition is to get out of his brothers' shadows and make a lot of money. And there's nothing wrong with that, but people are stupid if they think I'd go crazy over _that_.

So see, it's the summer now, and he has gone off to God knows where and I don't think I'll ever see him again. And it's incredibly disappointing, but I knew it would happen all the same. There is so much sadness about us right now, and I don't have hope that I'll see him again one day. No more fantasties that involve us running into each other after Hogwarts at the grocery store or something and him suddenly loving me. It's all gone. And it's okay, becaue I knew it'd turn out this way...okay, maybe not extactly this way, but really. I knew that we'd never be together. And you can say that's sad or tragic, or whatever, and every once in a while I'll feel a small twinge of regret that I never told him, but it won't last long.

So it's summer and next year was supposed to be my seventh year, and I was supposed to be Head Girl, and none of what has happened or will happen, was in my plan. But I will adapt. I was born to learn, to adapt, to be successful when I do. Successful in everything except love. And I will always love him, and it doesn't matter that I'll never share a kiss with him, and it doesn't matter that I'll never be able to live a life with him, because I'll always love him anyway. After all, it's not like I can stop loving the fool – stupid Draco Malfoy, making me love him.. So I don't know what going to happen, but I do know one thing. I was right. We'll never be together, and I was right, and yes, I do take satifaction from that.

You see why I wonder if I'm a masochist or sadist or whatever the hell it's called. Insanity.


End file.
